<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Repatriation Games by DreamingPagan</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265473">Repatriation Games</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan'>DreamingPagan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rescue Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>GoldenEye (1995), James Bond (Classic movies), James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alec Has Issues, Alec has parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Bond has issues too, Bond hush just let Alec's parents adopt you, Brosnan Bond, Fluff and Angst, If you haven't read that one you can probably pick things up ok, M/M, No Mallorys were harmed in the making of this fic, Picks up where Classified Action left off, Referenced Torture, assumes basic knowledge of Goldeneye, character thinks he's going to die, everybody gets their family back, fluff And whump, you get a family and you get a family and you get a family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:20:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25265473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gareth Mallory is 34, a captain in the SAS - and yesterday, the IRA broke every single one of his toes. There is no possibility of a rescue. The ceasefire's been called and besides - he's being held in a godforsaken root cellar. </p><p>It's a good thing Tiago Rodriguez, Alec Trevelyan, and James Bond have all planned a holiday in Ireland. Together. Unofficially, of course - on paper, after all, they're two-thirds dead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Bond/Alec Trevelyan, M | Gareth Mallory/Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rescue Verse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. This is a rescue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic would not have happened without the assistance of Sirenswhisper. It's not quite finished yet, but I deserve nice things today.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I don’t know what you want. For God’s sake I don’t know what you’re looking for, I promise you just stop -!”</p><p>The pleading words echo around the root cellar, as does the ringing slap that follows it. </p><p>“We’re not here for questions today,” One of the IRA tormentors barks. “Up! Get the fuck up!”</p><p>Gareth Mallory shakes his head, trying to reorient himself and check that his teeth are all in place after the blow. There’s one loose, he thinks grimly. That’s another one, then - more goddamn dental work if he ever gets out of this hellhole. He looks up at his approximately six foot tall jailor. </p><p>“I can’t get up with my feet tied,” he points out. “You broke my bloody toes yesterday, too, so unless you’d like me to <em> fall </em>on you -”</p><p>Rough hands take hold of his arms and pull him upward. His back screams its agony, his poor shoulders hurt from too many days hanging by his arms take up the tune when they tie his hands behind his back, and without much hesitation Mallory allows himself to voice their protests. His throat aches. He is standing on his feet, but only just, and it hurts like blazes.</p><p>“Quit fucking bellyaching,” his guard snaps, and reaches down to untie Gareth’s feet. “Walk. Don’t stop til I tell you and don’t try anything.” </p><p>It’s… oh god, he thinks. It’s got to be at least ten feet to the bottom of the stairs, and then there are bloody <em> stairs </em>between him and the door. </p><p>The guard pushes at his shoulder, and Mallory tries not to be ill. He is going to put one foot in front of the other, and hope for the best. He can’t move the toes on his left foot, but maybe -</p><p>Pain shoots through his foot, and he stifles a yell. One step down. Too many more to go, and then there are the fucking stairs and won’t those feel wonderful? </p><p>“Drag him,” someone orders, and then two sets of hands clamp around his biceps. The butt of a rifle hits the backs of his knees and he buckles. The hands pull him forward, and oh joy - now the stairs will feel <em> even better </em> while he bounces against them. He tries his damndest to push himself back onto his own feet to no avail - he simply can’t seem to get his damaged feet under him <em> . </em> </p><p>He should be frightened of what’s outside that door. They haven’t moved him from the root cellar in… well, God knows how long, really. He can’t keep track of the days down here - not fully, although he thinks it’s been perhaps three months. They’ve fed him, at least - or rather, Mary from the house the root cellar is attached to has fed him in the dead of night, enough to keep him alive and healthier than he might have been otherwise on just one meal a day. He hopes that whatever they are about to do, she won’t see it. He’s beyond fear for himself, really, but for her - for her family, terrorized by these bastards - he can still summon some pity. </p><p>The lorry they load him into is a surprise. He would quip about needing a seatbelt - truly he would, except that his heart has just taken up residence in his throat because they are loading him into a lorry. They’ve immobilized him and now - </p><p>His mum, Gareth thinks, is going to weep until there are no tears left to cry. His dad, too, once he gets through cursing the day he ever allowed his son to join the SAS. He’s filthy, body broken, and that’s how they’re going to find him. That’s how his body is going to look when they - when the guerillas have -</p><p>He’s going to die and the last thing he’s going to see is this fucking lorry and the goddamn bag over his head.</p><p>There are tears running down his cheeks beneath the bag. It hurts, this crying, and that makes him angry. What right have they got not to even look him in the eye as he dies? What fucking right do they have to tie him up, beat him to within an inch of his life - to leave him alive all this time, only to end it now? He’s not frightened of death, he never has been, but this - the sheer lack of decency, of dignity, of anything resembling honor in it galls and frightens him all at the same time. He’s scared, he realizes, that he won’t even see the bullet coming, that one moment he will be alone with his thoughts, crying like a lost child, and then next-</p><p>“Gag him, we’re coming up on the city now.”</p><p>The bag is ripped off his head. The daylight through the windows in the front is bright, burning, painful, and Gareth blinks frantically, trying to clear his sight. This might be the last sight he has of the sun - the last sight of anything he ever has before it happens since there’s absolutely no prospect of leaving this lorry under his own power. He has no illusions about escape - not in his condition, and unless a miracle occurs -</p><p>The gag is forced into his mouth, and then they try for the bag again and Mallory can’t help it - he kicks as hard as he can, and then gives a shout of pain that is muffled by the gag. The man next to him echoes it and is silenced by his comrade, a man whom Gareth has privately dubbed “Bastard O’Donnell.” </p><p>“Leave it!” The Bastard hisses. “Stop kicking, you shite! He looks bloody awful, what the hell have you lot done to ‘is face?” </p><p>“They’ll still be able to recognize him,” his companion scoffs, still nursing his injured shin, and then the talk dies down, and Gareth is left unhooded. One of the IRA men - one of the younger ones, less experienced, less hardened - looks at him sympathetically.</p><p>“It’ll be over soon,” he offers. “You’re braver than most. Tougher, too. Three months and not a peep -!”</p><p>“Shut up,” Bastard O’Donnell hisses, and conversation dies. Mallory tries not to let himself shake or cry any longer. This is it. He’ll die with his dignity, at least. He keeps himself upright, and when the lorry stops and they drag him out, he walks where they direct him, gritting his teeth against the pain. He will not cry out. He will not -</p><p>There is a cam-corder set up in the courtyard they lead him to. He freezes momentarily. Oh God - they’re going to <em> film it</em>. They’re going to send the film to someone and his parents will see him die. He bows his head, shaking in helpless fury, and then someone takes hold of his hair and pulls until his face is visible again. He is still gagged - still bound, and he can’t do anything, can’t even object. They shove him to his knees and he braces himself, waiting for the shot, the last sound.</p><p>“This is Captain Gareth Mallory, SAS, Hereford Regiment. He was taken three months ago at Credenhill,” one of the men says, facing the camcorder. “Our demands are simple. You’ve got two days to release Sean McDonald and Isaac Scott, held in Portlaoise prison these five years. Do it, and we let him go. Don’t do it, and this pin’s the last thing you’ll see of him.”</p><p>One of them holds up what Mallory recognizes as the badge off of his own beret - the winged sword with the regimental motto, and for the first time since he’s seen daylight, he feels the slightest fluttering of hope. They are not going to kill him - not yet, anyway. He looks into the camera, and he hopes that no one watching can see the way his hands clench or the way that his shoulders slump in relief. </p><p>“Stop the recording,” one of the Irishmen orders, and then he is hauled back up onto his feet. “Get him back into the lorry. Quickly - let’s get him away from here.”</p><p>“You think they’ll actually do it?” the younger guard asks, and Bastard O’Donnell snorts.</p><p>“Not a chance,” he says. “We’ll have to kill a hundred more of ‘em before they’ll care. Bloody English - won’t even come for their own.”</p><hr/><p>“Do we know where they’re keeping him?” Alec asks, and James shakes his head. They are on the plane heading for Belfast, now, and it’s a good thing they’re in first class by themselves at the moment.</p><p>“We know that he was in Belfast half a day ago and that the recording was delivered to a journalist’s desk at the BBC. They’ve searched the surrounding area with no luck. They’ll have moved him again before the recording aired.”</p><p>Tiago shakes his head. They’re going about this all wrong, he thinks, and then remembers that he can say so. It has been five months since his rescue, and it is finally starting to sink in that he can speak whenever he pleases again. He can have opinions. He can tease, and talk, and occasionally tell the two men he owes his life to that they are a pair of idiots, however fond he has become of them. There is no one to stop him. </p><p><em> One more victory for the therapist’s log</em>, he thinks to himself, and pipes up.</p><p>“This is not a war zone. We cannot go in guns blazing here,” he points out. “Where they have taken him is irrelevant. The ceasefire has been declared. There is peace in the works, and if we break it, then - poof! - there goes our freedom to operate. I am not explaining to Josefina and Constanca why I cannot come home now that I am free.” His other three sisters will not have the same issue - they are not in England. Bad enough, he thinks, that he has been putting off seeing them all this time. If he has to drag his two older siblings all the way to Portugal to see him again, they will both be even more angry. Angrier? Pissed off at him, and at James and Alec too. </p><p>Alec and James both look at Tiago, eyebrows quirked, and do they know that they mimic each other’s mannerisms now, Tiago wonders? He suppresses a grin. This is serious business. He will tell them later that they are so obviously linked.</p><p>“We’ve been engaged to see him safe,” James points out. “I doubt they’ll give him up willingly.”</p><p>“Torturing bastards don’t deserve to get off scot-free,” Alec agrees darkly, and Tiago nods assent. On that, they can all agree. </p><p>“I am not arguing for mercy,” he answers. “But perhaps this time a bit of deception is required. Once we have the good captain free -” He mimics calling someone. “Hello? There is a fire at the warehouse. Come quickly, someone is trapped.” </p><p>He puts down the imaginary phone and grins at the quizzical look on Alec’s face. </p><p>“You missed your calling with the theatre,” Alec says dryly, and Tiago shrugs. </p><p>“Perhaps,” he allows. “Or perhaps I wanted the drama without the starvation.” </p><p>James, Tiago thinks, has not missed Tiago’s other reason for wanting to be able to get in and out of England without a problem. He’s looking at him knowingly - one eyebrow quirked, mouth flat, the fingers of one hand drumming against the folding table. Damn - he’d hoped that Bond would have forgotten what Tiago had confessed the first night out of Chinese prison by now, but apparently not. Maybe that’s for the best. His therapist would approve. James reaches out and pats Tiago’s knee, and Tiago puts up with it because well - it’s nice, to have contact that’s not hurtful again. </p><p>“Their loss, our gain,” James says. “That still doesn’t answer the question. How are we going to find them and convince them to release Captain Mallory to us without a fight? Ideas, gentlemen?” </p><p>“We could always break their men out of jail,” Alec offers. “How good can security be at a place like Portlaoise?”</p><p>“No,” Tiago says absently, and Alec scowls. </p><p>“You’re telling me you’re the best hacker on the planet and you won’t even attempt a prison break?” he asks. Tiago looks at him directly.</p><p>“<em>Y</em><em>ou </em> need a glass of ginger ale. Nausea is making you grumpy,” he says, and Alec’s scowl turns pained. </p><p>“I bloody hate planes,” he confesses, and Tiago rolls his eyes.</p><p>“We can tell,” he answers, and Alec gives him a sort of contrite grimace. </p><p>“Apologies,” he offers, and Tiago waves a hand.</p><p>“Não é nada,” he dismisses, and the corner of Alec’s mouth turns upward. He flags down the stewardess on her next pass, and once he’s downed the glass of soda, he turns back to the other two, frowning at their makeshift battle plans.</p><p>“I might have a solution,” he offers. “James, you’re going to hate it. I’m not fond of it either but it could work.”</p><p>“Tell me first,” James says. “I reserve the right to sit on you.”</p><p>Alec flashes him a grin.</p><p>“You’re welcome to do that anytime, James,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows. James hits him with a pillow, and Tiago rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Work, gentlemen,” he reminds them before they can devolve into teenage boys once more. “Let us hear your plan.”</p><hr/><p>As predicted, James hates the plan.</p><p>“You’ll get killed. Again.”</p><p>“Not if we handle this exactly as I’ve outlined,” Alec argues. “You’ll be with me, and if anything even starts to go wrong -”</p><p>“The Janus Syndicate hasn’t been active in two years, they’re not going to believe you!” James barks. “Alec, this is -”</p><p><em> Madness, </em> he doesn’t quite say. He’s accused Alec of that before - two years and five months ago, in a base in Cuba. A lifetime ago, in terms of what Alec has gone through since that time, and he still flinches when he hears the word used. He’d been mad - truly, utterly insane, and the memory of it still wakes him up at nights. </p><p>“It’s not going to work,” James says instead, lowering his voice. They are still on the plane, after all. “I can’t watch you walk in there knowing it’s all going to go to hell. I just got you back.” </p><p>He’s trying oh so very hard not to lose his composure, and yet Alec can see the way that James’ hands are shaking. </p><p>“James,” Alec argues quietly, “it was always going to be like this the first time back into the field.” </p><p>In the second aisle seat, Tiago shifts. He is not quite comfortable watching this, Alec can tell, but they don’t really have a choice. The plane’s cabin is simply too cramped to allow him to move too far away, even though they have managed to retain enough of their collective resources to fly semi-privately. Alec reaches out and touches James’ arm, and James closes his eyes. He sighs. </p><p>“I’m not overreacting,” he says, and opens his eyes again. “I’m just - <em> reacting</em>, now. These last two years I’ve known you were safe, known where you were even if I couldn’t be there but before - when that bastard shot you in the head -”</p><p>He turns half around, fumbles for the glass of wine he’d ordered earlier in the flight. He’s trying to cover the wetness at the corners of his eyes, trying to retreat. They’ve talked about this over the last few months. Alec bitterly regrets that his absence has led James to this - the drinking, and the blindly seeking affection from anyone willing to fuck him, and the goddamn risk-taking that are all in the file Tanner’s quietly pulled from Six. Alec gently takes James’ questing hand in his own, intertwining their fingers, and holds it. </p><p>“I’m not going to get shot,” he promises quietly. “It’s going to be a quiet, pleasant chat between former business associates. I’m going to offer them a deal, and they’re going to hand over the unfortunate Captain Mallory because I’m going to promise them that I’ll personally see to McDonald and Scott in return for their renewed patronage. They’ll think they’re getting everything they want with none of the risk.” </p><p>“And if they tell you to where to put your offer?” James asks. Alec strokes James’ hand. </p><p>“Rodriguez is going to keep an eye on things, and if we get into trouble, he’s fully capable of shutting their entire goddamn base down without ever leaving his keyboard. Right, Rodriguez?” </p><p>“As long as I have five minutes and the right tools,” Tiago confirms. </p><p>“You should let me go in alone,” Bond insists. “I can tell them what they want to hear, just tell me the details of your arrangement with them -”</p><p>“James,” Alec says quietly, and James stops. “They’re going to want to hear from Janus himself why their shipments have stopped and when they can expect the next one. It won’t work otherwise, and I’m not going to send you in alone because I can’t lose you either.”  He places his hand on James’ face and is not surprised when his lover leans into the touch, or when James turns his head to kiss Alec’s palm. </p><p>“We are still on the plane,” Tiago reminds, seemingly absorbed in his laptop screen and yet aware when James’ hand moves to slide under Alec’s shirt. “Your protection is appreciated, James, but you should listen to your partner.”</p><p>James gives Alec an unhappy look, but nods assent. He pulls back, moving his hand from Alec’s stomach to his knee.</p><p>“Alright,” he agrees, “I seem to be outvoted. I’m not leaving your side, though, Captain Mallory or not. Any idea where they’re holding him?” </p><p>This last he asks Tiago, who shakes his head in frustration. </p><p>“It’s the Irish countryside, he could be hidden in any one of a hundred places,” he answers. “I am cross-referencing known associates of Scott and McDonald now. They are well-liked and they have large families.”</p><p>James frowns, and Tiago holds up his hands.</p><p>“There is a reason we are not storming anywhere,” he tells them, and James subsides into his seat, still looking peevish.</p><p>“I’ll see if I can get them to meet with us the moment we land and give us coordinates,” Alec reassures him. “We won’t be going in blind.”</p><p>He checks the clock. Forty-two hours to go, and one hour until they land. He hopes the man they’re rescuing is still alive.</p><hr/><p>
  <b>Sixteen hours later:</b>
</p><p>It’s night, Gareth thinks. He can tell it from the way that the light has first shifted under the door to the cellar and then gone away entirely. It goes every night - earlier and earlier now, and he has tried not to let it distress him but it <em> does </em>. He’s never been afraid of the dark but this - this is something more, something deeper and worse. The dying of that light every night is another day gone - another day here in this wretched cellar, and worse - now those days are numbered. He shivers and can’t decide if it’s the cold of the evening or the knowing that he might see that light only once more. </p><p>There is a rattling sound. A car pulls up outside the farm, and the headlights slide over the cellar door. Gareth sits up, heart suddenly speeding up. He’s still tethered to the wall - still immobilized, but he’s just barely managed to pull his broken toes back into their places and if he tries now - if they untie him now - maybe his feet will hold him, this time, just long enough, and maybe his poor, abused shoulders will allow him to punch them just once, that’s all it will take -</p><p>Granted, he will most likely end up running through the woods barefoot but at least he’ll die fighting if he can’t make it to the treeline. He braces himself, and listens as car doors open and shut. There are men’s voices, drawing closer - Irish voices, and he doesn’t dare think that maybe - just maybe, they’ve come to take him back to Belfast, to release him. No. Nothing good starts in the middle of the night like this. He tries as best he can to get his feet under him, ready to jump, ready to hit them and run. </p><p>Heavy boots clomp toward the cellar. The chain and lock rattle, and then the door opens. The men are carrying a torch with them. They shine it on Gareth, who closes his eyes hastily just before the beam hits him, trying to maintain his night vision to no avail. They continue to shine it in his face - they’ve done this before, of course they have. He keeps his eyes closed, and they move in closer. It’s going to be like that, then, he thinks grimly.</p><p>“You can hold off on the struggling,” one of them says. “There are men waitin’ just outside, and you won’t get more than a few steps before one of them puts a shot in your leg. Now, get up. Don’t give us any trouble and I’ll spare you the walking to the car. Poor bugger.” </p><p>The question, Mallory thinks to himself, is does he believe them?</p><p>It’s a relatively small cell, really - a splinter group. He’s seen perhaps five men in the whole time he’s been here, and yet - </p><p>He’d seen only three enter the cellar, and they’re not promising to shoot him in the back. He wants to die well, not lying in the dirt, unable even to stand, and if it’s to come to that, he’d rather not die of being shot while running either. He’s fucked either way, he supposes - dead here or dead there, but if he’s given the option, he’d rather his parents and his regiment know that he wasn’t a coward. He nods, and the flashlight moves out of his face. They untie him, and, as promised, they do not make him walk. Instead, one of his captors lifts him in a rather embarrassing fireman’s carry, and he is taken to the car and loaded in. They were not bluffing, he notes when they leave the cellar - there are two men with guns standing either side of the door.</p><p>“Might I at least know where you’re taking me this time?” he asks. “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours yet - have they released your friends?” </p><p>It’s exceedingly unlikely, he thinks somewhere deep down within himself. He knows the British government’s line on negotiating with terrorists and yet - </p><p>Perhaps they’ll lie to him, he thinks, and let him think that he’s been ransomed. It won’t hide the gunshot but it would be a comfort to imagine. </p><p>“Here. Put this on,” one of them says, and hands Mallory a blindfold. He takes it, and then stares at them. </p><p>“It won’t matter now, surely?” he asks. “Dead men tell no tales, after all.” </p><p>“We’re not taking you to be killed,” Bastard O’Donnell informs him. “You’re to be exchanged.”</p><p>He sounds - angry, about it. He’s angry, Gareth realizes - not smug, not placid - </p><p>Not lying. The world, Gareth thinks, just became a great deal kinder, or perhaps he himself is just suddenly remembering that there is a world outside. The night suddenly smells different and he can hear the sounds of the car rushing down the road -</p><p>He breathes in, and it smells, wonderfully, of something other than blood and dirt and his own sweat. He puts the blindfold on hastily, and tries not to curse at his own clumsy fingers. He should try to ascertain their location - he knows it. He should defy them, use his status as an apparent bargaining chip as insurance, but right now he just wants to leave. </p><p>“For whom or what am I being exchanged?” he asks, and one of the men grunts.</p><p>“Some fucker called Janus says he wants you,” O’Donnell answers. “Don’t like it but the boss man says he knows him. Says he’ll get our boys out if anyone can, and I’m not so fond of you that I want to die keeping you when the Brits get tired of us. I wouldn’t rejoice just yet if I were you - bastard’s got cold eyes.” </p><p>Janus. Mallory turns the name over in his head. Janus - the two headed god of doorways in Roman mythology, and also of beginnings and endings. Janus. Janus. </p><p>“You wouldn’t know if this Janus was in Kuwait, would you?” he asks, and receives no answer as the car rolls on.</p><p>If he ever gets free again, Gareth thinks from behind the blindfold, he’s not certain how he’s ever going to bear the dark.</p><hr/><p>“You are certain they said here?” Tiago asks again over the connection, and Alec rolls his eyes.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” he answers. “Good God man, get a hobby.” </p><p>Tiago huffs over the line.</p><p>“Just because you and James prefer going into your missions half-cocked -” he starts. James opens his mouth to make a terrible joke - and then car wheels sound on gravel outside, and all levity ceases. </p><p>“Check on the microphones?” James asks. </p><p>“Confirmed. You have the tracking devices?” Tiago asks, and Bond nods. He knows Tiago can see him, and he does not want to chance any further risky chatting. </p><p>“Let’s go and retrieve our guest,” Alec says, and strides forward.</p><hr/><p>They pull into what sounds very much like a car park to Gareth. He strains to hear what is happening, to no avail, and then the engine stops, and the car doors open. There are greetings, brief words exchanged -  </p><p>Footsteps approach. A pair of booted feet that Mallory can just see under his blindfold stop in front of him, and then someone reaches out and, with gentle hands, they untie the blindfold.</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” a man’s voice advises calmly - gently, even. “It’s bright here.” </p><p>The man’s voice is English, Mallory registers, and then the blindfold is removed from his face, and Mallory does not close his eyes. He’s not going to come to his newest captors with his eyes closed - he’s going to look at them, to know their faces. He blinks rapidly, and stares, and the tall, black-haired, blue-eyed man with his blindfold in hand gives him a reassuring smile.</p><p>“Captain Mallory,” he greets. “Pleasure to meet you. Can you stand?” </p><p>Gareth closes his eyes. This again, he thinks with a sense of despair, and then opens his eyes and starts to stand - starts to rise, gritting his teeth and clenching the car’s doorframe with one hand to help him up. The black-haired man looks alarmed - and then, to Mallory’s horror, he looks down at Mallory’s feet, still bare and bloodied and broken. He looks back up and meets Mallory’s eyes</p><p>“Terribly sorry for that,” he says. “Stay right there - don’t move.” He darts away, and for the first time, Mallory realizes that they are, in fact, sitting in a car park. His captors are standing in loose formation, and two men he’s never seen before, one in IRA uniform and the second - blond and wearing solid black - are talking in low tones. They shake hands, and part, just in time for the brunette who’d spoken to Mallory to reach the blond man and have a quick word. They turn and look to Mallory, and then as one they move in his direction. The blond who has apparently just bought Mallory from the IRA gives him a tight smile as he approaches and he stops just a couple of feet away. </p><p>“Captain,” he greets. “Ready to leave?” </p><p>He has scars on half of his face, Gareth realizes, and the dots connect suddenly. </p><p>“Janus, I presume?” he asks, and the brunette - <em> flinches</em>. </p><p>“His name is Alec,” he says. “Mine’s Bond. And our associate is - oh for Christ’s sake, here, Rodriguez, talk to him yourself!” He raises his hand to his ear and comes away with an earpiece. He offers it to Mallory, who looks to Bond somewhat hesitantly and then places it in his own ear. </p><p>“Hello!’</p><p>An accented voice sounds from the earpiece, and Gareth tries not to jump.</p><p>“H - hello?” he asks. </p><p>“This is a rescue,” the slightly-accented voice says cheerfully. “Don’t look now, but my colleagues are going to bug our mutual enemies’ car. They are going to drive away, and we are going to take you to a doctor the moment we are able. I am Rodriguez - Santiago Rodriguez. Pleased to meet you.” </p><p>“I - wait - what?” Gareth asks, and he does not fight it when Alec kneels next to him and puts his arms around Gareth’s waist. </p><p>“Going up!” Alec announces, and lifts, and Gareth does not manage to stifle the squeak of surprise that leaves him as Alec hoists him over his shoulder. </p><p>“Apologies for my colleague’s forwardness,” Rodriguez’s voice says in his ear. “Gentlemen, please hurry if you would - I have the good captain’s parents on hold.” </p><p>The car they load him into has padded seats, he thinks dimly. Bond and Alec bicker briefly about who is going to drive and then - </p><p>“You - you’ve called my parents,” Mallory repeats thickly. “They’re - you’re going to let me go home?” </p><p>They’ve strapped Gareth into the backseat with his legs carefully stretched in front of him. Alec, who’s ended up in the passenger seat, turns and gives him a crooked smile.</p><p>“You’ll be home before lunch-time,” he offers, and Gareth cannot help it - his eyes well up and quite without warning, he begins to cry, because at long last, after three months and simultaneously an eternity, he is safe. He can dimly hear Rodriguez in his earpiece murmuring soothing nothings and, in between, asking Bond and Alec in a low, worried tone if he has somehow broken Gareth. Gareth shakes his head wildly and then, realizing the Spaniard (or possibly Portuguese?) cannot hear him, he chokes out a denial.</p><p>“I’m - I’m alright,” he manages at last, and then hears gasps down the line, both familiar.</p><p>“Gareth?” his mother asks, and Gareth begins to cry again, this time from joy. </p><p>“I’m ok, mum,” he sobs. “I’m alright. I’m safe. I’m really safe.” </p><hr/><p>They do not quite make it home by lunch the next day. They drive instead to the nearby military base and are let in immediately when the guards at the gate recognize Mallory’s face from the news. </p><p>“God have mercy,” one of them mutters, and then waves to his comrades. “Open the gates! It’s Captain Mallory - Captain Mallory’s alive!”</p><p>They unload him from the car, and this time there is no fireman’s carry, but rather a stretcher which Alec loads him onto gently. He is carried to medical, and then it is a long, long night, because Gareth Mallory, as it turns out, is a mess.</p><p>Bond sits in the office that he and Alec have been shown to, and he wonders exactly how many times they are going to have to explain what’s happened to Mallory’s commanding officer. The Colonel is a particularly stubborn man, and his suspicions are, quite understandably, raised to a near paranoid level. Small wonder, Bond supposes - after all, one of his soldiers disappeared under the man’s nose and has been returned three months later by three men he does not recognize, sporting severe, deep bruises, broken toes and feet, broken kneecaps, a badly dislocated shoulder, fifteen nasty, deep cuts, and a word carved into one thigh that makes Bond wonder if he should go back to the IRA base and clean up himself rather than allowing Col. Thorpe to do so for him. Bond would not know about it but that Mallory had insisted that his rescuers remain by his side during his treatment. His parents are still on the line that Tiago has kept open, and Bond has already handed them over to the Colonel, who's looking increasingly pale as Sir Rupert Gerald Mallory, Baronet rakes him over the coals in defense of his son. </p><p>“We need to debrief him, there are names and locations he could give us -” Thorpe starts, and Bond winces on the man’s behalf, because Sir Rupert’s mood is palpable even here across the Irish Sea. </p><p>“My son,” Sir Rupert growls,”has been missing for three months - <em> three months, </em> and you have done <em> nothing </em> to aid him! These men rescued him inside a day, and yet for three goddamn <em> months </em>you sat doing God knows what, and now look at him! You will release Gareth tonight and allow Commander Bond and Major Trevelyan to bring him home or so help me God, Colonel, I will speak to my MP. Is that clear?” </p><p>“Sir - with all due respect - Captain Mallory is being treated at our medical facility, he is in need of care -”</p><p>“I’m not in need of anything that I can’t receive at home,” Gareth’s voice says over the line, and Col. Thorpe jumps. </p><p>“Captain, get off the line - Sir Rupert, you and I can discuss this like reasonable men -”</p><p>“Did you just tell my son to hang up this line? Did you just tell <em> my son </em>not to speak to me or his mother?” Sir Rupert demands in a tone like rolling thunder, and James sits forward.</p><p>“Colonel - I think you’ll find that all the information you require is already being collected by my associate. Agent Rodriguez - can you please furnish the Colonel with the exact GPS coordinates and names of the men who took Captain Mallory from this base?” </p><p>The room holds its collective breath. </p><p>“Coming to your email inbox now,” Tiago confirms from his spot next to Mallory the younger. They had decided that one of them should remain with Gareth, and Tiago had eagerly taken the opportunity, disinclined as he was to spend his night dealing with military personnel outside their newest charge. Colonel Thorpe pales still further. </p><p>“How in the hell has he got my email address?” he demands, and Alec raises an eyebrow. </p><p>“Just be grateful he hasn’t hacked your personal computer,” he says. “Out of professional courtesy, though, you may want to give Sir Rupert what he wants. I think you’ll find my colleague bores easily, and right now he’s no doubt having a quick poke around your security systems.” </p><p>“<em>So </em>outdated,” Tiago confirms, and there is an audible slurp as he takes a sip of tea. The Colonel’s eyes nearly leave his head.</p><p>“<em>What?! </em>” he roars, and Tiago sighs.</p><p>“Really, Colonel, all this shouting is terrible for the nerves,” he chides. “You have a wounded soldier here in need of rest.”</p><p>“If we might return the discussion to the matter at hand,” Bond invites. “Colonel - you have what you need. For the sake of your sanity and your career, allow us to transport the Captain home to his family.</p><p>Col. Thorpe looks at Bond. He looks at Alec, who has begun fiddling with a letter opener in what somehow manages to be a menacing way, and then he hears Sir Rupert take a breath to begin shouting again, and he makes up his mind.</p><p>“Yes, alright,” he says. “These goddamn IRA thugs had better be in the location you’ve given me. Dismissed. Commander, Major, take your colleague and Captain Mallory and get out of my base.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes Dad, Mum - I love you too.” </p><p>Mallory finishes out the call with his parents and sinks down onto the bed. </p><p>“Thank you for calling them,” he says. Tiago shuts his laptop and looks up. His hands are shaking again, he realizes with irritation. The side effect, of course, of hearing all that shouting, and yet he’s glad that Mallory has a father who will stand up for him in such spectacular fashion. He curls his fingers and lets them relax again, and then tucks them into his lap and focuses on Mallory.</p><p>“My pleasure,” he answers, and damn it - Mallory has certainly noticed the slight hitch in his voice if he did not notice his hands.</p><p>“You seem upset,” Mallory observes, and Tiago gives him a tight smile. </p><p>“It’s nothing,” he lies, and feels the weight of Mallory’s blue-eyed gaze settle on him even as he says it. </p><p>“That’s not nothing,” Mallory says, nodding to Tiago’s hands. “After-action jitters?” </p><p>“I - no,” Tiago answers. “Don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?” </p><p>“Like I’ve been sliced open, beaten repeatedly, and then hung by my arms from the ceiling to marinate in my own stench,” Mallory answers, and Tiago winces. </p><p>“Ay,” he murmurs. “Well you smell fine now, if it’s any comfort.” </p><p>It takes him an instant to realize that that sentence has come out of his mouth, and another to see if Mallory has noticed. He has not, thank goodness - instead, he is scratching at his bandaged torso.</p><p>“Why the hell does nothing ever itch until you can’t reach it?” he complains, and Tiago can’t help it - he laughs. Mallory gives him a wounded look, and Tiago takes pity.</p><p>“Here,” he offers, “let me get that.” </p><p>Mallory - Gareth, as he’s insisted on being referred to - has cleaned up nicely, really. Tiago reaches for the long implement he intends to use to help the captain scratch his itches beneath the bandages, and he can’t help but note that the man’s hair is bordering on being red, and that his arms, now that they are bared, are pleasantly muscled. His back is harder to see given the bandages, but what little is visible is also rather nice, and Tiago should not be focusing on that, he suddenly reminds himself. </p><p>“Right - no, rather more toward the center,” Mallory directs as Tiago carefully uses the pencil to scratch where he is told. Mallory lets out a groan at last, and Tiago grins.</p><p>“Better?” he asks, and Gareth nods. </p><p>“God yes,” he answers. “Thank you. What were you using?” </p><p>Tiago holds up the pencil.</p><p>“Not the best of tools,” he admits. “A knitting needle is better, but we don’t have any. I am sure your mother will have one you can use.”</p><p>He sits back down, and Gareth appraises him frankly.</p><p>“You’ve done this a lot, then?” he asks, and Tiago nods.</p><p>“Two months bandaged just as you are,” he admits. “I was a very bad patient and kept opening my injuries. Big brother was not pleased.” </p><p>“When was that?” Gareth asks, laughing a little and - oh. Oh dear, Tiago thinks, and is suddenly very, very glad that the lighting is bad and his skin tone is naturally darker, because he can feel his face flush. Captain Mallory has a <em> very </em>nice smile. It’s his eyes, mostly - they light up when he’s happy, and right now he is relaxed, freshly clean-shaven, and comfortable again for the first time in months, and Tiago knows how that feels.</p><p>“Three months ago,” he answers. “I was taken prisoner in China in February.” </p><p>Mallory looks stunned. </p><p>“China?” he asks, and Tiago nods. </p><p>“Mm-hmm.”</p><p>“And you agreed to do - <em>this</em> - for a living immediately after?” Gareth asks, gesturing to himself to indicate his rescue. “Good God, I think I’d have quit the service entirely and retired to Bora Bora. I still might.” </p><p>Tiago laughs again. </p><p>“The thought crossed all of our minds,” he says. “But, as Alec said - I bore easily, and as MI6 didn’t want me back, it seemed - attractive, to stay with those who rescued me.”</p><p>Mallory makes an understanding noise.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’ll want to be alone after this,” he admits. “I, uh - well. Did you ever feel, in China, as though - as though you’d been forgotten about, that you were -”</p><p>He stops, and swallows hard, and Tiago can’t help it - he reaches over to the bed to take Mallory’s hand.</p><p>“I did,” he answers. He squeezes Gareth’s hand gently, and the other man gives him a slightly embarrassed look.</p><p>“Nights were the worst,” he confides, and Tiago nods.</p><p>“They were,” he acknowledges, and then the door opens, and James and Alec walk in. Tiago withdraws his hand, and gives Gareth a smile.</p><p>“Ah - speaking of big brother,” he says. “Are we ready to leave?” </p><p>Alec nods. </p><p>“We are,” he says. “Whatever he’s told you, there was no fish incident.” </p><p>This he directs at Mallory, who raises an eyebrow. </p><p>“A fish?” he asks.</p><p>“I’ll tell you on the way to your home,” Tiago promises.</p><hr/><p>“I really am terribly sorry for all the fuss,” Captain Mallory says for the third time as they draw closer to his parents’ home. “I’d walk home if I could - save you some trouble at least.”</p><p>“We don’t leave a job half finished,” James reassures him. “In this case, that means taking you home to your family. Consider it part of the service.” </p><p>He can practically feel Tiago’s grin, but just to be certain he checks the rearview mirror. Sure enough, the man who’d first put the idea for their current occupation into James’ head is beaming at him. James rolls his eyes and tries to remember not to grip the wheel quite so hard or clench his teeth. He’s not angry at Alec - not really. He’s….</p><p>Oh hell, who is he trying to fool? He hasn’t been alright entirely since last night, and it’s all down to that goddamn name he’d hoped never to hear in connection with Alec ever again. It makes something in him snarl in impotent rage because - because - </p><p>Alec reaches over and casually scruffs the back of James’ hair, and Bond can’t stand it anymore.</p><p>“I’m too bloody angry for you to do that right now,” he warns, and Alec gives him a serious look.</p><p>“I know,” he says, “but it was either that or let you break your teeth from clenching them too hard. You’re scaring the children.” He gestures to the back seat of the car, where Mallory and Tiago are trading looks in what does, in fact, seem like suspicious silence now that James thinks about it. He glances their way, and then turns his attention back to the road.</p><p>“How the hell,” he asks Alec without looking at him, “are you better than I am at these things?”</p><p>Alec shrugs, and James can see it in his peripheral vision.</p><p>“Two years of therapy will do that,” he says, sounding vaguely uncomfortable and James removes one hand from the wheel to run it through his own hair. </p><p>“There’s not enough product in the world to keep my hair safe from you,” he complains, and Alec gives him a knowing look.</p><p>“James,” he says, and James glances toward him again. </p><p>“We have company,” he points out and glances toward the back. </p><p>“Two hands on the wheel, there are children in the back!” Tiago says, grinning. </p><p>“Has it occurred to you that children are meant to be seen and not heard?” James asks dryly, and Tiago scoffs.</p><p>“Not in my family,” he says. “There were six of us. If we weren’t being heard, my grandmother came looking to see what mischief we’d gotten into.” </p><p>“Six?” Mallory asks. “Christ, I was an only child!” </p><p>“Gentlemen,” Alec reminds, “the adults are trying to have a conversation.” </p><p>“I’m thirty-four,” Mallory answers. He is lying with his feet on Tiago’s lap, comfortable and cheeky with it, but not stupid, evidently. He looks to Alec, and then to Tiago, and simultaneously the two passengers in the back begin to rustle the packets of crisps they’ve brought for the trip home. </p><p>“They’ve gone and made a new flavor of Hula Hoops in the last three months,” Mallory says. He stuffs one in his mouth, and closes his eyes. “Bliss,” he says once he’s done chewing, and then Tiago begins to catalog the various snacks.</p><p>“We’ve got Discos, Hula Hoops, some sort of American thing -” he starts. </p><p>“I’ve had those, they’re wonderful,” Mallory says, loudly rattling the bag, and Alec turns back to James.</p><p>“You were saying?” he asks, and James sighs. </p><p>“I can’t - lose you again,” he says at last, and Alec frowns.</p><p>“James -” he starts, and James holds up a hand. </p><p>“Please,” he says, and Alec subsides. He nods for James to continue.</p><p>“We came within a hair’s breadth of not having this,” James says at last, and Alec closes his eyes.</p><p>“I never really wanted you dead,” he starts. “I know what it looked like -”</p><p>“Not that,” James interrupts, and Alec frowns.</p><p>“Are you implying I couldn’t have if I wanted to?” he asks, and James can’t hold it in any longer.</p><p>“Alec, <em> I shot at you, </em>” he says in an anguished undertone. “I shot at you with absolutely no intention of missing, repeatedly. If you’d made some goddamn crack on that satellite instead of remembering - if you hadn’t hit your head in the stairwell and we’d made it out onto the dish -”</p><p>“James, if you hadn’t shot at me I might not have hit my head and we still wouldn’t be having this argument,” Alec points out. “It was a near miss, but it brought me back.”</p><p>“What if I hadn’t seen through Janus?” James asks, and there is dead silence between them for an instant. “What if I hadn’t realized in time, Alec? What then?” </p><p>His hands are gripping the wheel tightly again. He’s not crying - he can’t right now, he’s driving, but he should pull over, he realizes. He’s not alright, and this car isn’t some creation of Q’s, designed to go through the apocalypse and back without taking a scratch. He pulls off the road, and kills the engine, and then he gets out and walks over to Alec’s side of the car.</p><p>“Walk with me,” he asks, and Alec nods. </p><p>“If we’re not back in fifteen minutes, I’ve gotten us lost,” he jokes to Tiago and Mallory, then unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out. They’re in a rural area, James realizes - little but hills and stone fences on either side, and a very convenient hill that he leads them towards. He waits until they’ve dipped below the crest of the hill and out of sight of the road and then turns to Alec and hugs him tight, shaking as he does so. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he manages to say at last, a bit sheepishly. Alec shakes his head, and pulls back a bit to look at James’ face. </p><p>“I won’t ever use Janus again,” Alec promises. “Christ, James - I had no idea I’d frightened you this badly.”</p><p>“I’m not frightened of Janus,” James croaks. “I’m frightened of the day that bastard Ourumov’s tricks are going to come back and bite us in the arse again. Janus nearly got you killed once. I nearly killed you. I can’t lose you to him again. I won’t.” </p><p>“You won’t,” Alec agrees. He leans in and kisses James gently - carefully, almost, and James can’t help it - he nips at Alec’s lower lip, not hard - just enough to remind his lover that he’s been displeased and scared, to remind him that James is <em> there</em>. Alec makes a contrite noise, and for a moment, they just stand there in the field, holding each other and catching their breath. </p><p>“You are breaking my heart, truly,” Tiago’s voice says from the top of the fence, and Alec and James turn back to glare at him. He shrugs. </p><p>“What?” he asks. “I was curious. And bored. And hungry. It’s teatime - you are aware, yes? Oh - and we are out of snacks.”  </p><hr/><p>Mallory’s parents’ house is - large, Alec thinks when they first pull up to it. It’s not palatial, by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s no cottage, either. Ancestral, probably - and very nice. The Mallorys are waiting at the door, and he can see Lady Mallory’s hand fly up to cover her mouth when they open the door to reveal Captain Mallory, still seated in the back of the car and looking somewhat sheepish. </p><p>“Hi Mum, Dad,” he says, and that’s it - the parents come running, and from there it’s a flurry of hugs and tears and greetings that all somehow result in Alec and Tiago helping Gareth out of the car while Sir Rupert attempts to assist, largely by fussing about watching Gareth’s head and supporting his legs properly. </p><p>“I’m alright, I’ll be fine -” Gareth insists, and then winces as one foot brushes against the car’s frame, and Sir Rupert raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“You’ll be resting,” he says firmly. “Gentlemen - if you could please deposit my son in his bed indoors -”</p><p>“Certainly,” Tiago answers, and they move indoors.</p><p>The inside is as posh as the outside. They enter the front foyer, and Captain Mallory winces once more, this time at the sight of all of the stairs that stand between him and his bedroom.</p><p>“Mine’s up the stairs and third door on the right-” he starts to say, and Sir Rupert shakes his head.</p><p>“We moved it,” he says. “This way, gentlemen. Gareth, your mother’s brought some of your things down as well, you’ll have to let us know if you want anything while you’re recovering and we’ll get it -”</p><p>They are shown into a downstairs room that has quite obviously been hastily converted, and Mallory the younger seems to be at a loss for words for a moment.</p><p>“Dad - your study -” he says at last, and Sir Rupert waves a hand, dismissing the apology that’s forming on his son’s lips.</p><p>“Hadn’t used it in ages,” he says. “And you needn’t worry about it being all your old things - I spoke to Mum and reminded her you’re a grown man now, in need of more than just your teddy. You’ve got your books there, plugin for whatever gadgets you’ve got over there, chess set in the corner, and I’ve taken the liberty of putting the phone there - just call the house instead of getting up until you’re well, there are two lines -”</p><p>“You -” Gareth starts, and then shifts in the bed they’ve just set him in, reaches behind him, and comes out holding the aforementioned teddy. “Sir Gawain! You brought him down!” he exclaims delightedly, and Sir Rupert grins awkwardly. </p><p>“Well, I couldn’t deny her completely,” he says, and then leans over to hug his son again. </p><p>“Apologies, everyone,” Gareth apologizes when they part again. “And thank you, once again. I don’t quite understand how you found me or <em> why </em>, but -”</p><p>“Can’t reveal our sources,” James says, and tilts his head toward Sir Rupert. “Your father’s influence might have had a part to play.” </p><p>Gareth smiles, and then turns a bit pink in the cheeks. </p><p>“Sorry about Sir Gawain -” he starts, and Tiago shakes his head.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he says. “It makes me wish to see my stuffed rabbit, as well as my sisters.”</p><p>Gareth looks at him seriously.</p><p>“You should call them,” he says. “And, if you need someone to talk with - well -” He gestures. “I’ll be here for a while.” He grins, and Tiago grins in return. </p><p>“Here - let me help you get comfortable -” he starts to offer, and then Lady Mallory enters the room, and Alec isn’t planning on getting pulled into a hug, but apparently he is going to do so. Her embrace is warm and comfortable, and he can’t help but relax a bit. She turns to James and Tiago and hugs them as well, and then goes to her son and husband and hugs them both, beaming the entire time.</p><p>“Thank you, all of you, for saving Gareth and bringing him home,” she says. “We’re in your debt, and though I know it can’t compare, I hope you’ll stay for dinner. There’s plenty of room if you want to stay the night too.” She’s crying a little, Alec realizes, and shifts in a distinctly guilty fashion.</p><p>His own mother still thinks he’s dead, he thinks with a growing sense of dread. He hasn’t called her or his father - hasn’t even thought of it, not with - everything. He coughs, and that seems to be the cue for Lady Mallory to detect his guilt and turn in his direction.</p><p>“When did you last speak to your mother?” she asks, and Alec fishes for words. He can’t tell her that it’s been eleven years. He can’t admit that here and now, can’t think about it -</p><p>“It’s a complicated question,” James says from beside him gently. “Lady Mallory - perhaps we should give your son some privacy and time to rest -”</p><p><em> Please</em>, Alec finds himself thinking, <em> please let her take the hint</em>. Instead, she turns to Tiago. </p><p>“And you?” she asks. “You mentioned your sisters. How long has it been?” </p><p>He can’t stay here. He can’t let this line of questioning continue. He can’t think about the answers. </p><p>“Excuse me,” Alec says, and without another word, he turns and leaves the room. He does not pay much attention to what is happening behind him, because suddenly the walls feel close and his fingers are tingling and before he knows quite what is happening, he has managed to get into the car. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, he realizes with irritation - James has got him trained again, or maybe he’s just gotten used to Russian cars and-</p><p>James has followed him, he realizes dimly, and is now kneeling beside the open car door and holding Alec’s face in his hands. </p><p>“Alec. Hey, it’s alright, breathe with me. Breathe.”</p><p>He’s gasping for breath, he realizes, and he’s not certain where the panic has come from or why it’s hit him so suddenly but it’s here and it’s annoying and it’s also needed to come out for a long time.</p><p>“They forced me to forget,” he tells James in the space of one ragged, heaving breath. “They held up these - these photos of a man and a woman and they demanded to know who they were over and over and - and if I didn’t respond the way they wanted they would hurt me so badly - and then they held up the photos of my mum and dad and I knew they knew who they were and I had to say - I had to swear they weren’t - that I didn’t know them -<em> I can’t remember their faces </em>- ”</p><p>He lets out a keening sound, and then James’ arms are around him, holding him close, and it is a long, long time before the sobs die away, leaving Alec exhausted in James’ arms. </p><p>“I can’t remember my parents,” he says numbly once his ability to cry has been exhausted. “They made me forget, and then they made me remember other people in their place. I should call them, I know, but -”</p><p>He sighs, and pushes a hand through his hair, and James puts a hand on his knee. </p><p>“You don’t have to make that decision now,” he says. Footsteps sound in the driveway, and he turns, letting go of Alec and standing abruptly. “Lady Mallory,” he greets, suspicion in his tone, and the lady waves a hand. </p><p>“Please, call me Lucile,” she answers, and holds out two cups of tea. “Tea?” she asks. James takes both cups and hands one to Alec, and then turns back to Lucile, who smiles apologetically.</p><p>“I feel I may have touched a nerve,” she confesses, and Alec gets out of the car.</p><p>“Not to worry, my lady,” he answers. “Lack of sleep, only, and a less than ideal flight. It’s - “</p><p>He stops, and the lie dies on his tongue. </p><p>“It’s been a long time since I spoke to my mother,” he confesses to Lucile’s knowing look, and she nods.</p><p>“I thought as much,” she answers. “Please - join us for dinner, and then if you wish to call her, you can use our telephone. Your friend is calling his sisters right now.” </p><p>“He’s calling them?” James asks, and then he and Alec hurry toward the house, and the imminent disaster that Tiago has always insisted would occur if he called his five sisters.</p><hr/><p>“No, you cannot come here,” Tiago is saying as they walk through the door to the living room. “I am not in my flat, this is not my telephone. No, Constanca, I am not trying to keep you away - I have <em> not </em>been kidnapped again; this is not a hostage situation. I am not telling you their names, you will only use them for blackmail. What do you mean you’re already blackmailing M?! Stop that - stop that right now!”</p><p>“What does she have on M?” James asks, and Tiago winces.</p><p>“Yes - that is the man who rescued me,” he says down the phone line. “Yes - he is attached, don’t start matchmaking. No - Constanca, don’t hand the line to Josefina -! Hello, Josie, yes, I’ve missed you too - yes, I’m alive, it’s really me - I’m sorry, truly I am, Constanca has made me <em> very sorry. </em> It has been five months- ah! Ah! Stop shouting, please! I am still in recovery, it’s been <em> very </em> trying and shouting is <em> not ok </em> -” </p><p>Bond can’t help it - he bursts out laughing, giggling like a lunatic, and Tiago gives him a very unamused look. </p><p>“<em>Traitor,” </em>he mouths, and James keeps laughing as he turns and sees the startled deer in the headlights look on Alec’s face.</p><p>“I’ve changed my mind,” Alec says. “I’m not calling my parents. It’s been eleven years, they’ll skin me alive!”</p><p>Mallory’s father stands by the phone, and at Alec’s statement he turns. He looks somewhat pale, but the color comes back to his cheeks a bit as he turns his attention away from the sound of the Rodriguez family reunion that’s occurring.</p><p>“Did you say it’s been eleven years, Major?” he asks, and Alec nods.</p><p>“I - yes,” he confesses, cheeks flushing. </p><p>Sir Rupert waves a hand.</p><p>“I shouldn’t worry then,” he says, and Alec gives him a confused look. “It’s been too long, lad - they’ll be so pleased to hear your voice there won’t be time for all this,” he explains, waving toward a harried-looking Tiago. </p><p>Alec raises a skeptical eyebrow, but does not comment further. Tiago’s phone call finally ends, and he replaces the phone on its cradle carefully. He turns to Sir Rupert and Lady Lucile. </p><p>“I think you are safe from three out of the five,” he says. “The other two…”</p><p>“When will they be arriving, dear?” Lady Lucile asks, and he gives her a grateful look. </p><p>“Within an hour,” he answers. “Don’t worry - we will all be staying at the hotel. Thank you for the use of your phone -”</p><p>“No trouble at all,” Sir Rupert says. “And I insist you all stay for dinner, sisters and all. Major, Commander -”</p><p>“Alec and James, please,” James says, and Sir Rupert nods.</p><p>“Right. Boys, one and all - Gareth’s asleep, but if one of you could wake him for dinner, I’d appreciate it and in the meantime there’s a billiard table this way and I’d like to offer you a little something in thanks for rescuing our son if you’ll have it. Come along.” </p><p>“I - I think I’d better make that call, actually,” Alec says, and James turns back toward him.</p><p>“Are you certain?” he asks, and Alec nods. </p><p>“If I don’t do it now, I never will,” he answers, and James has never, ever been more proud of him in his life. </p><p>“I’ll stall dinner,” Lady Mallory says, and disappears off to the kitchen. </p><p>“I’ll stay with him,” James says, and Sir Rupert nods. </p><p>“And you, Agent Rodriguez?” he asks, and then frowns. “Should I be referring to you by some rank or other?” he asks, and Tiago shakes his head.</p><p>“No. I was recruited young. It is a long tale.” </p><p>Sir Rupert waves his hand toward the parlor. </p><p>“Come and tell me about it,” he invites, and Tiago follows him out of the room. </p><p>“That’s going to go over like a lead balloon,” Alec predicts, and then looks at the phone as if it might possibly bite him. “I’m not sure I recall their number,” he says, and James can’t quite decide if he looks relieved or upset - or possibly both. </p><p>“Your dad’s going to sob and your mother’s going to pretend everything’s alright and by the end of the night, you’re going to wish we had had some sleep last night,” Bond predicts, and Alec lets out a huff of laughter.</p><p>“I’m wishing that right now,” he admits, and Bond reaches into his jacket. He digs around for a moment in his wallet, and then produces a small slip of paper, which he hands to Alec.</p><p>“Here,” he says, and Alec looks down at the piece of paper. He stares, and then he looks back up at James.</p><p>“You’ve been carrying their phone number?” he asks, and Bond nods.</p><p>“Since 1986,” he confirms. “I was the one who called them after. M wanted to do it but I insisted. I don’t know what I thought I was doing - atoning for leaving you or punishing myself or just - trying to save them finding out from someone who wasn’t family, perhaps.”</p><p>“You called them? You told them?” Alec asks, and James has to look away from the horror in his green eyes. “James -”</p><p>“I told you, Alec, I wasn’t well,” he says. “I told them, and when the time came to sell our flat I delivered most of your things to them because I couldn’t look at them every day.”</p><p>“You - you <em> met </em>them?” Alec asks, and James bows his head because here it is - here is the rub. “But then -” Alec starts, “in Russia, when I told you that nonsense about the Cossacks-”</p><p>“I haven’t spoken to them in eleven years,” James confesses finally. “I didn’t recall their faces any more than you did and I thought - perhaps you’d been adopted.” He turns away. He can’t keep looking at Alec while he confesses this - he just can’t. It’s too much - it’s too painful. </p><p>“You haven’t told them I’m alive either,” Alec says, and James shakes his head. </p><p>“I failed you so many times. I didn’t want them to think I deserved their thanks,” he says, and then Alec places a careful hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“James,” he says quietly, “I think you should dial their number. I’d like - I’d like it if you told them first. Tell them you brought me home.” </p><p>His hands are gripping the chair back too tightly, James thinks, and releases the piece of furniture. He turns around. He looks at Alec - at the utterly sincere expression on his face, and he wonders if Alec understands at all how much forgiveness he’s just offered. </p><p>“I should’ve called them earlier -” he begins, and then stops when Alec gives him a look. </p><p>“Hello pot, I’m kettle,” he says, and then, softer - “You didn’t fail me. Call them please, James. Help me call them. We both have things to say.” </p><p>He holds out the phone. James nods, and swallows hard, and allows Alec to hand him back the slip of paper he’s kept safe all these years. </p><p>“You’re sure?” he asks, and Alec nods. James dials. </p><p>The phone rings once, twice, thrice - </p><p>Alec’s mother answers, and it takes a beat for James to actually speak. </p><p>“Hello - Mrs. Trevelyan?” he manages at last. “It’s - it’s James. Bond. I know it’s been -”</p><p>“James, are you alright? What’s the matter? Are you injured?” </p><p>Maisy Trevelyan’s voice hasn’t changed in the slightest, and James wonders for a moment why he ever hesitated to call and speak with her. </p><p>“I’m not injured,” he reassures her. “I’m near London. Listen, can you - can you sit down, please?”</p><p>“James, please tell me you haven’t hurt yourself,” Maisy says, and James breathes a sigh of relief.</p><p>“I’m alright, I promise. I’ve got some news - good news for a change. Is Mr. Trevelyan around?” </p><p>“Louis is out in the garden,” Maisy says, and James can hear the sound of a chair being dragged out from a table. “He’s been obsessing over our vegetable patch again, the damn rabbits are driving him mad. What on earth is so very -”</p><p>“Alec’s alive,” James says simply, and he’s suddenly very, very glad that he’s asked Maisy to sit down. </p><p>“Louis?” she calls, and he’s a bit concerned at the sudden weakness of her voice. “Louis? Lou I need you in here, please. Come in. Hurry.”</p><p>Alec can’t take it any longer. He takes the phone, and raises it to his ear, and then, in a voice that trembles terribly, he asks, </p><p>“Mum? Mum are you alright?” </p><p>There is crying on the line. James can hear it from his position next to Alec. He can hear, too, the sound of the door opening and shutting again, and Louis Trevelyan asking his wife what’s wrong, and the weeping that follows. Alec clings close to James, waiting with bated breath. His hand is tight against James’.</p><p>“I’m fine, little sparrow,” she sobs finally. “I’m fine. He’s alive, Lou - our baby’s alive. Alec - my Alec. Talk to me again. Tell me where you are.” </p><p>“I’m here, Mum - I’m right here,” Alec answers, and curls around the phone a bit. James holds him tighter. “James found me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry - I never meant to leave. I’m alive.” </p><hr/><p>The rest of the conversation is… emotional, to say the least. Alec does not release James’ hand for the duration.</p><p>“James and I will drive down to you in the morning,” Alec promises. “I’d come now but neither of us have slept in thirty-six hours and -”</p><p>“We’re coming to you,” Maisy says. “Give me the address, we’ll come and get you. I’m not waiting another ten hours to see you both when I can be there in five. Lou - here, talk to him, I’ll get the car going. Alec darling - I love you. I’ll be there soon.”</p><p>“Mum -” Alec starts, and then turns to James as custody of the phone changes hands between his parents. “We’re doomed,” he says, and James shakes his head.</p><p>“It’s for the best anyway,” he replies. “Rodriguez will need the car to get back to base when his sisters are done with him.” </p><p>“Alec?” </p><p>His father’s voice sounds old and more than little bit wary, Alec thinks, and then he clears his throat and answers. </p><p>“Hi, Dad,” he says, and he wonders if he sounds half as scared as he still is. He wonders if his father can tell how relieved he is that the voice on the other end of the telephone sounds familiar, not like the stranger he’d feared. </p><p>“It’s - it’s good to hear your voice, son. How - what in God’s name happened to you?” Louis Trevelyan asks, and Alec can’t help it. That’s the bit that breaks him, because how in the hell is he supposed to tell his father what <em> happened? </em> How is he supposed to tell Louis what he’s become, what depths he’d sunk to before James found him?</p><p>“I - James and I, we -” he starts, and then has to stop and gather himself. “I - got captured,” he says finally. “Do - do you remember when I told you that my posting had gotten changed, and that I was going to be away for longer?”</p><p>He remembers the conversation, he realizes as he asks. He remembers telling his mother and father he’d been reassigned, he’d still be home on time. He remembers telling them his deployment wouldn’t interfere with their anniversary plans. </p><p>“Alec,” his father says softly, “I’d like the truth, this time. Where were you?” </p><p>“Russia,” he says finally, and he hears his father take a deep breath and then exhale. He hears Louis shift position, and he can imagine the look on the older man’s face.</p><p>He remembers his father’s face, Alec realizes suddenly. He remembers it because it’s more or less his own - rougher around the edges, perhaps, and older. They’ve always joked that there’s no mystery to what Alec will look like as a retiree. </p><p>“Blimey,” his father says heavily, and Alec gives a short huff of laughter.</p><p>“Yeah,” he agrees. “I was working for MI6. James was too. It’s not his fault- he wasn't lying. I got shot in the head. He saw it.”</p><p>There is silence down the line for a moment and then, in a shaking voice, Louis asks -</p><p>“In the head? What - what kind of damage -?” </p><p>“Louis, I’ve got the car packed,” Alec’s mother shouts from what must be the front door. </p><p>“I didn’t remember… so much, Dad,” he answers, and he can hear the moment that Louis Trevelyan finally allows himself to believe that Alec is alive.</p><p>“Amnesia?” he asks, and then, in a voice rough with emotion, “You didn’t - didn’t keep it from us on purpose, then. You forgot. You’re really - it i’nt a joke or a - a trick -” His accent has gotten thick, now.</p><p>“You sound like grandmum,” Alec says. Louis laughs and it sounds as though he’s laughing through a lump in his throat.</p><p>“I do,” Louis says, and then Alec hears a chair scrape against the floor. “We’re on our way, son. You stay right there, and your mother and I’ll be there in a jiff. Keep James there with you - sit on him if need be. Tell him he’s to make you stay put as well.” </p><p>"I will," Alec answers, and then the phone changes hands again. </p><p>"I need an address, dear, and we’ll be on our way to you,” Alec’s mother says. Alec gives it to her, mouth dry suddenly.</p><p>"It's a manor house, belongs to people with money," Alec relays. "We can wait for you at the foot of the drive, I don't want to be a bother-"</p><p>"You won't," Lady Mallory says from the doorway behind them. "Dinner is ready, gentlemen. Alec, please give your mother my regards and invite her and your father to stay the night."</p><p>“Ma’am -” Bond starts, and she gives him a stern look.</p><p>“You saved my Gareth,” she says. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve no one to call.” </p><p>She leaves again, and Alec looks to James. </p><p>"<em>Now </em> we’re doomed," James jokes. </p><p>Alec swallows hard. </p><p>"Mum," he says, "we may have lodgings for the night."</p><p>They hang up a moment later. Alec sits, feeling an odd mix of terror and satisfaction. He's done it. He's made the call. It's done. </p><p>"James," he says after a moment. "You did tell them we were together, right? They- they know we're-"</p><p>James smiles. "Yes, love," he answers. </p><p>Alec takes a deep breath and then blows it out as a relieved sensation travels through him.</p><p>“Thank fuck. I couldn’t remember,” he confesses. He looks to James - and feels his stomach start to growl. The stressful task is completed, and now his body is beginning to remind him that he has not eaten properly all day. </p><p>“Dinner?” he asks, and Bond nods. He leans over and kisses Alec’s cheek gently, and then rises.</p><p>“Dinner,” he agrees. “Come on. I want to be there when Tiago’s sisters arrive.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please feel free to imagine Louis Trevelyan looking quite a bit like current Sean Bean.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s such a massive relief to come home.</p><p>He’d never have credited it even four months ago. The family manse when he’d left it had been - well, not awful by any stretch of anyone’s imagination. His parents are good, loving people and always have been, but Gareth had been so very <em> bored </em> and the army had seemed - well. At the time he’d joined all those years ago it had seemed like a good idea, and the SAS moreso, but right now, with dinner in the offing and comfortable in his own bed however far removed from his bedroom, he cannot help but appreciate the amenities offered by a stay at home. </p><p>He’d be even better off, he reflects, if one of his rescuers in particular would stay just a bit longer. </p><p>Gareth shifts in the bed. Everything itches or hurts, and he could definitely do with some conversation at the moment. He hopes that Agent Rodriguez will return to speak with him before he leaves. It’s not, he thinks, that Bond and Trevelyan aren’t interesting or sympathetic but - </p><p>Well. Tiago is simply easier to talk with - more voluble, certainly, funnier, and less careworn. Gareth still has not gotten the full story on who Trevelyan is or who he <em> was </em>but Gareth is certain that there is a story, and he’d very much like to hear it. </p><p>He would also like to not have Bond skewer him for asking, and judging by the argument he heard in the car and the way the man had flinched at hearing Trevelyan referred to as Janus, that seems entirely likely if he asks outright. If he asks Tiago, he has half a chance of at least being distracted from how much his ribs hurt, if not perhaps of getting the whole truth yet. It would be… nice. Even nicer, he reflects if Rodriguez would return when he is healed and speak to him, laugh with him - </p><p>Fuck him into the mattress and then ride him, Gareth thinks, and feels his face redden. He glances at Sir Gawain, who is sitting in the corner of the bed. He can’t help but feel that the stuffed bear has a very knowing look in his beady black eyes.</p><p>“Don’t judge me,” he mutters, and turns the stuffed animal around. It’s not as though he’s in any shape to follow through on the thoughts at present anyway, he thinks irritably. His legs hurt abominably even with the painkillers and the damn pills are making him a bit dizzy. He hurts, he itches - </p><p>A knock sounds on his door, and he looks up, startled.</p><p>“Come in!” he calls. He sits up as best he can in the bed (and he really must ask for an extra pillow or two to prop himself up with if he’s going to be stuck in his bed this way, he thinks). The door opens, and Gareth tries valiantly not to glance at Sir Gawain when Agent Rodriguez comes into the room carrying two loaded plates.</p><p>“I thought you might like some company,” he says, raising both plates slightly at Gareth’s quizzical look. </p><p>“I’d hate to keep you from anything -” Gareth starts, and Tiago waves a hand. </p><p>“I have been talking with your father for an hour,” he says. “He is a very nice man but I may possibly have mentioned my tragic past to him and there is a thin line between sympathy and pity.” </p><p>“If one more person tries speaking to me in that gentle tone, I may riot,” Gareth agrees. Tiago grins, and sits down on the bed. He hands Gareth a plate and fork. </p><p>“Bon appetit,” he says, and - </p><p>Oh yes, Gareth thinks faintly. That wonderful, amazing smelling food is for <em> him </em> this time. It’s hot, and good, and it’s not going to be taken away from him, and he’s not going to have to eat with his fingers. </p><p>“Your mother is a good cook,” Tiago comments, concentrating entirely on his food as though he does not know the earth-shaking importance of the meal in front of them, and for that alone, Gareth might just love him. </p><p>“She is,” he finally agrees. He takes a deep breath, and wipes the moisture from the corners of his eyes, and then takes a bite. It’s bliss - truly, really, like - well. Like coming home, which he has at last, he realizes. He tucks in swiftly, and by the time Tiago looks up again, Gareth is halfway through his food. </p><p>“Slowly,” Tiago cautions. “You’ve been starving for three months. Chew slowly.” </p><p>Gareth swallows another bite hard and then takes a deep breath. Slowly. Tiago is right and Gareth’s stomach is already telling him about it. He takes another deep breath, and another, and puts the fork down. </p><p>“It will get better,” Tiago tells him. “Give it a few days.” </p><p>The stab of panic that travels through him is unexpected - unwarranted, unwanted - </p><p>He’s been seen having trouble and that, for the past three months, has meant blows, and pain, and demands for information. He swallows again and tries to breathe. He is home. He is home, and safe, and - </p><p>Tiago hands him the bin just in time for him to be noisily ill. He’s shaking, he realizes - shaking even now, even tucked up in his bed, and there is a hand on his back rubbing up and down. </p><p>“It hits like that at first,” Tiago is saying. “Breathe. Breathe. You are not in danger. It’s alright.”</p><p>“Sorry -” Gareth tries to say, and then gags again. Tiago shakes his head.</p><p>“There is nothing to apologize for,” he reassures. “Except for the atrocious color of these curtains. Is your father colorblind?” </p><p>Gareth can’t help it - he laughs weakly, and just like that, the panic attack begins to release its grip. The root cellar had had no curtains, he realizes, and laughs again, and keeps laughing until his ribs hurt from it.</p><p>“They’re hideous,” he manages to say at last, and Rodriguez grins.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he says, and Gareth smiles at him.</p><p>“Maybe I can return the favor someday,” he offers. </p><p>“Maybe,” Tiago allows. </p><p>The doorbell rings, and Tiago looks toward the door to the study.</p><p>“You could hide me,” he suggests, and Gareth laughs again.</p><p>“No,” he answers. “Come on, they can’t be as frightening as all that, can they?”</p><p>Tiago shakes his head.</p><p>“No,” he answers with a fond smile. “They’re not. Alright, alright, I’m coming!” He stands as the doorbell rings again, and turns back to Gareth. “Eat that,” he says, motioning toward what’s left of Gareth’s dinner and his own. “Slowly this time!”</p><p>He wrinkles his nose at the now-soiled bin as he leaves.</p><p>“I’ll tell someone to change that,” he says, and then he is out the door, and Gareth is alone again but smiling this time.</p><hr/><p>“Stop fidgeting!” Constanca Rodriguez snaps and her sister Josefina, standing next to her on the step, gives her an exasperated look. </p><p>“Oh go ahead, try to pretend you are not anxious,” she answers, and Constanca rolls her eyes. </p><p>“I’m not anxious because I’m <em> furious</em>,” she answers. “Irresponsible, stupid, reckless little idiot with his computers and his ‘oh, no Connie, I am fine, really! I am working for the consulate, nothing to worry about -” She rings the bell again, harder this time. “I’m going to slap him,” she mutters. “I’m going to slap him and then hug him and then -”</p><p>There is movement in the glass panels framing the door. The profile is blurry but Josefina thinks she spots blond hair. The door knob turns. The door opens. </p><p>Tiago, she thinks, looks well. His hair is combed to within an inch of its life, his suit has a crease near the hem but is otherwise immaculate -</p><p>And he is looking at them like they might just possibly eat him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he manages to get out, and then Josefina takes two steps forward and wraps him in her arms, holding him tight and all is well again.  “I’m sorry,” Tiago sobs into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry Josie, I never meant to -”</p><p>“Hush,” she cuts him off, and he holds onto her with both hands. His grip feels weaker than she remembers, and she is not blind to the small marks she had seen on his neck above the suit. She holds him, and she is not surprised when he begins to cry silently.</p><p>“Josie -” Constanca starts, and Josefina turns her head.</p><p>“No,” she says, and Constanca deflates.</p><p>“Not even one punch?” she asks plaintively, and Josefina frowns.</p><p>“Don’t even think it,” she answers. That’s that. That was always going to be how this played out, whatever Constanca might think. “Get over here,” Josefina says, and motions for Constanca to join the hug. </p><p>All is going to be well. </p><hr/><p>“I can’t do this,” Alec says for approximately the fifth time, and stands once more as if to go to the door. “I can’t tell them. I can’t face them. Christ, James, what the hell am I going to tell them?” </p><p>They’re coming up on the five hour mark since Alec’s call to his parents and Bond would like nothing more at the moment than to sit on his lover or, failing that, to at least find a way to speed up Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan’s arrival. If they take much longer, he’s concerned that Alec might actually bolt.</p><p>Not, of course, that he would get far without a car. Bond had given the keys to Tiago for a reason, after all - several reasons, and one of them is that Alec is most certainly a flight risk at the moment. The younger agent has since left with his sisters, and Bond does not expect to see him again for a fortnight, at least. </p><p>“Alec,” James begs in an aggrieved tone, “will you please sit down?”</p><p>“They’re late,” Alec says, looking at the clock. “Maybe they’ve turned around.”</p><p>“Or, just possibly, they’ve gotten caught in traffic,” Bond points out. “And unless you’d like to greet them looking like a scared hedgehog, you should come over here and run a comb through your hair and then <em> sit down </em> so that you’ll have the breath to tell them how much you’ve missed them.” </p><p>He gives Alec a pointed look. Alec glares in return but he does as James has suggested. He sits down, and allows his lover to tame his hair, and then sighs.</p><p>“I don’t know what to tell them about my face,” he confesses. “I don’t know if I have the words to tell them ‘sorry, your son was captured and because the world has no mercy I forgot what you looked like and then tried to blow up your country.” </p><p>“You don’t have to tell them everything,” James points out, and Alec closes his eyes and lets his head rest on James’ shoulder. </p><p>“I’m going to have to tell them <em> something, </em>” he points out, and James makes a sound of agreement. </p><p>“You can always claim you got on the wrong side of a badger,” he offers. This is who they are together now. Again. They’ve always been like this - one of them cracking jokes to make the other feel better. It’s good to have that back. </p><p>It’s good to have Alec back after nine years of thinking him dead and two more years wondering if he’d ever consent to come home. He takes hold of his lover’s hand and kisses the back of it, and then - </p><p>“A badger?” Alec responds. “A fucking badger, James? That’s all you think of my skills?” </p><p>“They’re nasty little buggers!” James protests, and Alec pretends to be irritated - pretends to sulk for a moment, and then the corner of his mouth turns upward, and Bond knows his humor has hit its mark. </p><p>“You could have the decency to claim it was a bear at least,” Alec grumbles good-naturedly, and Bond reaches up and scruffs his hair. </p><p>“They’ve already forgiven you for going missing or they wouldn’t be on their way,” he says. “If Q can let it go, so can they.” </p><p>Alec snorts. </p><p>“Q nearly shot the pair of us for lying to him,” he points out, and Bond can’t help but grimace.</p><p>“Let’s avoid telling them how long I’ve known you’re alive, alright?” he asks, and Alec grins.</p><p>“What, you don’t want another tongue-lashing?” he asks, and Bond shakes his head. </p><p>“No. I’m fairly sure I’m still missing strips of my hide from the last one,” he confesses, and then the doorbell rings for the second time, and Alec jumps in his arms, tense again.</p><p>“They’re here,” he says. He turns to James, suddenly very young for all that he is now in his late thirties. “Come with me?” he asks, and Bond takes hold of his hand.</p><p>“Of course,” he answers.</p><hr/><p>They’re going to be strangers, Alec thinks again as he approaches the front door. He’s going to answer the door and find two people he barely knows and who won’t know him and he’s going to want - he’s going to be disappointed when they’re not those <em> people </em>in the photo they’d shown to him over and over again. He knows it, and it shames him to his core because how could he forget, how could he have let their image fade from his mind? How-?</p><p>He opens the door and finds a short, round-ish woman with cheerful green eyes the same color as Alec’s own and a man who looks like an older, heavier version of Alec himself with eyes that are closer to being blue and they could not, absolutely <em> could not </em>be more familiar. His mother still smells like lilac and his dad still looks like he’s been in the sun every hour of every day and they are both looking at him like he’s just given them back something they’ve been missing for ages. He has. They have, and James is still holding his hand but it’s not going to be necessary - not now.</p><p><em> “Mum,” </em> he chokes, and then - <em> “Dad,” </em> and it does not matter if Alec is nearly forty. It does not matter that he has been lost for eleven years, or that his face is a ruin or that he’s been a villain and a victim and a mess for all that time. It doesn’t matter, because finally, Alec’s come home. He throws his arms around his parents, and hugs them tight, and then he pulls James in as well, because damn it, he <em> will </em>hug every member of his family that is present in this moment. His father holds tight to him and then takes Alec’s face in his hands, blue eyes full of tears.</p><p>“Where have you been, you reckless, foolish boy?” he demands. “What the hell did you think you were doing, running off to Russia and getting captured and - and -” He seems to register for the first time the rough scar tissue under his hands, and concerned relief turns to outright worry mingled with a sort of delayed fear. “Alec, <em> what happened?” </em> he asks, and Alec just shakes his head. He’ll explain another day - another time. For right here and now, all he wants to do is be safe again.</p><p>“Got cocky,” he answers, and Maisy Trevelyan purses her lips. She moves forward, shooing her husband aside to take her own turn at examining Alec’s face. She turns his head to look at the damage and then kisses his brow firmly.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re safe,” she says, and then claps her hands together. “Now - I want to hear all about it tonight, and then you’re both coming home in the morning. James, if you think I’m letting you out of my sight for the next month either, think again. We’ll go home, and I’ll make dumplings and stew. I haven’t had it in eleven years, and I think I’m about owed.” </p><p>That’s… that makes no sense, but it sounds vaguely familiar. Alec looks to James, who tilts his head toward Alec to murmur in his ear.</p><p>“It was your favorite,” James says, and Alec closes his eyes for a second - just long enough to silence the part of him that wants to scream at the realization that there is yet another part of who he was that he is going to have to relearn. There is still so much he does not recall. It’s frightening, and he can tell that his mother has caught the unasked question and answer. She frowns, and looks first to him and then to James. </p><p>“You don’t remember?” she asks, and Alec shakes his head.</p><p>“They took -” he starts, and then stops, trying to remember the things that his therapists and doctors have used to describe what was done to him. “I have - gaps in my memory,” he says finally. “Some smaller, some larger. I don’t - know, exactly, how much I’ve lost, or -”</p><p><em> Or how much of it will ever come back if it hasn’t done by now, </em> he thinks but does not say. He swallows hard, unable to complete his sentence. </p><p>“Is it still alright if I come home?” he asks, and his mother - the woman who raised him, the good Cornish woman whose face and voice he’d been made to forget - makes a small, horrified sound.</p><p>“Of <em> course </em>it is,” she answers, and then her arms are around him again, and his dad is there too, and James’ hand is still in his own, still holding him tightly. He can’t decide if he’s relieved or ashamed or both or neither, and so he just allows himself to be held, and tries to pretend that his cheeks aren’t wet with tears. “It’s alright,” his mother murmurs into his shoulder. “We’ll work on it together. It will be alright.” </p><p>“So,” Louis Trevelyan asks after a moment, “whose house are we kipping at?” </p><p>Alec can’t help it - he laughs, and pulls away from his mother. </p><p>“Come on,” he offers. “Let’s go and tell Sir Rupert and Lady Mallory you’re here. Mum, you’ll love the conservatory.” </p><p>The words leave his mouth before he can consider them and it takes him two full minutes to realize that he’s remembered that his mother loves music. It takes him another half hour to stop grinning afterward. </p><p>It’s going to be alright, he thinks as he settles in next to James for the night. They’re going to be ok again.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>